As of Thanksgiving Day, I will have worked 18 days in a row without a day off. Unsurprisingly, all the early mornings & cramped office days are beginning to take their toll and I'm turning into a depressed grump. Think SNL's Debbie Downer meets Diznee's Sleepy meets a zombie. Hungry for brains, even hungrier for a good night's rest, and hungrier still to find the cure for feline AIDS.
::meow meow::
And what does all this soul-sucking lead to?
Kvetching.
So here, despite
Variations on a Theme's self-imposed credo to
not being a place to kvetch, I've found something about which to kvetch: Chicago's
The Spot needs to get over itself.
Soon.
Now, preferably.
For those who don't know
(you are the lucky ones) The Spot is a "hip" restaurant/bar/social locale in Chicago's diverse & currently transitional Uptown neighborhood.
Imagine
That Theatre Girl from high school
(Artemis from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia),
That Hipster Who'd Walk to the Dorm Showers in His Skinny Jeans from college,
The Improviser (you know the type) &
That Financially Set Savant You Avoid At All Costs. Picturing them? Ok, well
The Spot is the kind of establishment they'd open together if given the opportunity.
Listen up,
The Spot: while though you're going for that whole "uber friendly 'cause we're
THE place to be," atmosphere, your servers come off as pushy & annoying.
And all the gimmicks!
The Spot offers Bar Trivia which normally I find, as a pointless knowledge dork, entertaining. Yet, with the enjoyment of a game comes my unquenchable desire to win
win win. Unfortunately at
The Spot, the wait staff loves to ask you if there's "anything else they can get ya?" as many times as humanly possible, thus ruining to competitive nature of the game.
Listen up,
The Spot wait staff: quit hassling me while I'm trying to remember the original four Beatles and the name of the sniveling & dastardly Hanna Barbera dog character.
Leave me alone and get over yourself,
The Spot.
His name is Muttley, btw, and no, I do
not want another Cran 'n Vodka.
And you know what else really butters my bread? Really steams my potatoes? Really tosses my salad?
Fraternity Jock McSportguys who drink a shitton of shitty beer & perpetuate the Douchebag lifestyle every night of the week and yet become all Judgy Jerry when it comes to smoking pot or, say, respecting women. I'm writing in mere generalizations, but I've noticed this the most in hardcore Italian or Polish guys around my age from the "old neighborhood." Loosen up & stop being douches, y'all.
Misogynistic & clearly alcoholic assholes who pass judgement when it comes to smoking a little grass are dicks.
::feels a smidge better for kvetching his worries away::I need a drink.
Courtesy of Joan Marcus and 
There is a "Dribble my balls" joke somewhere out there, but I can't quite form it correctly.
Swimming is so homoerotic, but who knew a swimming-themed meet n' greet could be homoerotic too? God, to be that boy! Or Phelps, for that matter. Either way you look at it, it's a hot, albeit brief, personal exchange.
